Love and War
by hermyknee1
Summary: He hates her, her kind, and all of the people she associates herself with. And yet, he is entranced. / A story about how the most unlikely pair come together to defeat a common enemy. Please Read and Review!


**A/N: I haven't written a story in quite a while, but this idea has been circling around my head for months, so I decided to write it down. I hope you guys love it and please review!**

Shortly after initiation, he sees her. She doesn't even notice him, as he's hidden behind a pillar in Hogsmeade. He sees her laughing with those moronic friends of hers: the Chosen One and the Weasel King. How can she be happy, with her blood traitor friends and muggle past? She's happier than him, happier than he ever believes he could be, especially after tonight. He just committed to ridding the world of her useless kind and yet, he is envious. Envious of the way she laughs carelessly, leaning on Weasel's shoulder to catch her breath. How dare she. How dare she be happy when she is so clearly on the losing side of this war. A small part of his mind is whispering that he should rejoice in her happiness for it will be all the more fun to squash it when the time comes, but he can't bring himself to listen. Not when, as that aforementioned time inches closer and closer, he is slowly losing his nerve. With one last cursory glance at her effervescent happiness, he turns away hurriedly, suddenly worried that they would notice him.

He's spent the past four hours trying to make this damned cabinet work. He's tried every spell, every charm he knows, and nothing has worked. He wills himself to not imagine what could happen to his parents if he does not succeed. He purposefully turns away from the Room of Requirement towards the library, convinced that there must have been something he missed in the textbooks. That's when he sees her. This time she's alone, quietly reading in a secluded area in the library, surprisingly free of her two idiotic shadows. He observes her quietly from afar, trying to come up with a reason as to why he's doing this. He hates her, her kind, and all of the people she associates herself with. And yet, he is entranced. He watches as she pores over the words on the page, revealing her reactions for the world to see. _How uncouth_ , he thinks. Being brought up to keep emotions at bay, he cannot believe how expressively she lives her life. He tries to convince himself this is a representation of her dirty blood, but after spending the past 16 years forced to hide his feelings, he cannot resent her for that. He battles within himself to go up to her, not knowing what he would say, but he's a coward. She is so beneath him, yet he cannot muster up the courage to talk to her. _Forget the Dark Lord and his bloody cabinet, my own father would Avada me out of shame,_ he thinks. Shaking his head in confusion, he shuffles back out the door of the library, completely forgetting his purpose for entering.

The third time he sees her, he is shocked beyond reason. Here is this young headstrong woman, the brightest witch of her age, and she's crying her eyes out in an empty classroom. At first he is wary. Crying women - or women expressing any emotion, really - have always been a deterrent for him. But he cannot help but be drawn to her. _Her_. Hermione Granger. Poster child for all mudbloods and know-it-alls everywhere. Something about her, her willingness to fight, her expressiveness, draws him to her. Eventually, he realizes that he has been standing there for far too long not to at least address her, so he slowly inches forward.

"Granger?" he cautiously ventures, taking slow but deliberate steps towards the weeping witch. Startled, she jerks up and, if anything, grows more alarmed upon recognizing the intruder. She stands up tall, despite her average height, and looks him right in the eye.

"Malfoy? What are you - you do know that it's quite rude to intrude upon one's personal space. I would have thought that even the likes of you would abide by proper decorum." she says, uptight as ever, while wiping her eyes hastily. He falters slightly, not having thought through what he was going to say. He decides to return to what he knows best.

"And you should know that no one wants to see you weep over your poor blood traitor boyfriend." Draco smirks at her, astounded that the gossip mill had been correct for once. _She can do so much better than that Weasel_. This thought catches him off guard. Why would he think that? It makes perfect sense that a mudblood and a blood traitor would decide to be together and spawn awful, low-class children, yet the very thought makes him strangely jealous. Her indignant voice brings him back to the present.

"I wasn't weeping in front of anyone; last I checked, this was an empty classroom! And what do you even know about Ron and I? You barely take your head out of your ass long enough to notice anyone around you." She's stepped up to him now, glaring at him and challenging him to prove her wrong.

"What would you know about noticing anyone? All you ever bloody do is read and when your only two friends finally decided they've had enough, you're shocked when they go find attention elsewhere!" By this point they are standing chest to chest, both breathing deeply as they shoot incorrectly placed remarks to each other.

"How dare you?! At least I'm not so desperate for Daddy's approval that I go and enlist myself into an army of murderers and thieves!" Draco's countenance morphs within an instant, scarlet suddenly tinting his vision. He draws his hand swiftly, but he is still too slow for Hermione, who had prepared for that reaction from him, and already had her wand drawn.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione yells, just in time for her spell to meet Draco's shield charm. He smirks to himself.

"I wasn't enlisted in the Dark Lord's army at 16 for nothing, mudblood." he taunts.

"Oh, of course not. Everyone knows you were a replacement for your pathetic father." she sneers, shocking herself at the maliciousness she directs towards him. _He deserves it,_ she thinks, _he's a Death Eater now, he murders innocent people._ While she was reassuring herself for her aggressiveness, however, Draco has grown even more enraged. He steps up even closer than he was before and lowers his voice to a whisper.

"Don't you dare talk about him to me. I don't need to take this shit from a mudblood like you, Granger." he whispers darkly and draws his wand once again, too quick for Hermione, and yells, "Fulgari!"

Hermione puts up her shield charm just in time, and backs away slightly while sending a wordless stunning spell, but Draco blocks it yet again.

"You think that you can beat me? You? What makes you think you can win?" he says, trying relentlessly to crush her never-ending bravery and optimism. "Brachiabindo!" he yells, finally catching her off guard, and she loses her balance as the spell binds her limbs together. She stares up at him in shock.

Shocked, she looks up at him wordlessly, a pensive look on her face. Hermione looks down at her bound arms, and Draco can just imagine the wheels in her head turning as she tries to identify this curse.

"It's a Binding Curse." he says, towering over her fallen form.

"Yes, I figured, thank you. Malfoy, this is very advanced magic." she responds, looking up at him with a new expression in her eyes. Her remark throws him off; he doesn't think he ever expected a compliment from her.

"What? Are you going to give 10 points to Slytherin?" he sneers and makes to leave the room. Her calm look makes him uneasy and he releases her from the spell.

"Granger, if you ever want to be able to defeat the Dark Lord, you better stop weeping over worthless gingers and train." He says harshly and storms out of the room. Hermione snaps out of her trance and gets up, suddenly forgetting her despair from before and leaving with a new mission in mind and a drive to accomplish it.

A week later, Hermione walks into the library with an armful of books with the intention of getting a head start on this weekend's homework. Upon arriving to her favorite secluded area, she finds Malfoy sitting at a nearby table, hunched over a stack of books, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. She decides to take a chance and, mustering up her Gryffindor courage, she strides over to him swiftly.

"Malfoy." she says firmly, standing over him and causing him to look up from his studies.

"Granger?" he asks incredulously.

"I've thought about what you said and I've decided you are right." he stares at her, confused as to what she's referring to. "It pains me to say it, but you're right. If I want to defeat Voldemort, I need to train. And I can read every book there is about the Defense against the Dark Arts - which I nearly have, mind you - but I still won't be as prepared for battle, not without exposure to hand-to-hand combat."

Once she is finished with her little speech, she waits for him to respond.

"Err, Congratulations? I'm not entirely sure what you expect be to say here, considering I am fighting for the side that plans to eradicate all filthy mudbloods, like you." he retorts, confused as to why she is here.

"Exactly my point! There must be some reason as to why Voldemort enlisted you. I mean, you have continuously _nearly_ matched me in my exam scores, and that's why I am here." she says, still remaining irritatingly vague.

"And why is that, pray tell?" he asks, quickly losing his patience.

"I want you to train me." she says confidently, as if this was a normal request asked of him.

"Train you? You?! You want me to train the mudblood best friend of the Dark Lord's enemy?" his continuous use of that foul word was all in an effort to get her to react, to fight back with that same spark he saw last week, yet she remains infuriatingly unperturbed by his slurs.

"That is the precise reason why I need to train, to fight your precious 'Dark Lord'." she says, mockingly, glaring at him. "And why not be trained by you? As I just said, you are quite intelligent and skilled in certain areas of magic, as much as it tortures me to say it."

He continues to stare at her disbelievingly. Her proud expression turns softer and, if this weren't Hermione Granger before him, he could almost imagine it to be pleading.

"Look Malfoy. I am not going to enjoy this any more than you, but I need this training. The professors have, of course, taught us, but I need more combat-oriented practice, practice I can't get in a classroom. As I'm sure you know, the war is going to happen, whether or not we are prepared. And I fully intend to be prepared." She stares at him, confident as ever.

"That's all very well and good, Granger, but, again, why choose me to train you? You seem to forget I am fighting for the other side. Why don't you go scamper off and restart that insufferable Dumbledore's Army led by your Chosen Hero - or whatever the bloody hell they're calling him now?" With a sneer, he makes to get up from the chair and leave the library. Hermione leaps forward to block his path. "Granger, get out of the bloody way."

"No. Malfoy, I can't ask Harry for help he's...occupied with studies. And you know just as well as I do that no one else here is bright enough to train with." she says, quickly avoiding mentioning Harry's private sessions with Professor Dumbledore.

"Aww, finally realizing that dear Weasel isn't as bright as his mummy says he his?" Draco reverts back to teasing, it's comfortable and familiar between them; all of this talk of training together is throwing him off.

"Ronald lately doesn't seem to have any useful qualities expect snogging daft dimbos." she mutters bitterly, more to herself, but his proximity allows him to pick it up. He grins at her annoyance.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Malfoy, you are avoiding the subject. Now will you train with me or not?" she says, placing her hands on her hips, resembling uncannily the Gryffindor Head of House.

"Give me one reason as to why I would help make the opposing side stronger?"

"Because I believe, deep down, you're having doubts. I've been observing you, Malfoy. Ever since you were initiated it has become clear you don't want this life. You were forced into it, just like Harry, just like me. But we can fight it. You can fight. There is a way to escape this. I just need your help." Her eyes turn soft throughout this speech, silently pleading with him to see reason. Slowly she collects her things and gets up. "At least think about it."

And with that, she's gone.

Later that night Draco lies awake, contemplating her words. _'You don't want this life'._ Does he? He joined it, willingly took part in the initiation. _Was it truly willingly?_ , he asks himself. He became a Death Eater to save his parents, to ensure his safety, and to rid the world of _her_ kind. Despite everything he's said and done, however, this wouldn't be the first time he doubted the latter. Every time he saw her laughing uproariously, without a care in the world, he doubted if his decision was the right one. How could it be, when he was so miserable and exhausted all of the time? How could he pledge his loyalty to a leader who would demand such a cruel payment from a boy? Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. He pulled out a spare piece of parchment and a quill and wrote a short note to a certain curly-haired witch.

A day later, Hermione finds a note in her Charms textbook written in an eerily familiar handwriting.

 _Meet me at the Room of Requirement tomorrow night._

She grins to herself and places it back in her textbook and gets to work to finish her homework. After all, she has another lesson to prepare for.


End file.
